The Tragedy
by Something Less Than Epic
Summary: I seem to have a thing for tragedy, no? Well, regardless, this odd little monster I've constructed is not nearly so serious as my other creation. In fact, it's probably needlessly silly.


The tragedy – for, indeed, to all that it affected, it seemed as such – occurred in the early morning. Day had recently broken onto the scene: the sun, peeping up over the high crested hills of the Calm Lands, had only just begun to cast iridescent beams of warmth upon the tiny camp. A few stray Chocobos, newly awoken from their long, face-jammed-under-wing-is- somehow-comfortable naps, were strolling about the plains lazily, pecking tentatively at various odds and ends amongst the dewy grasses of the savannah.  
  
The tragedy was fairly singular in the entire journey, as nothing else of the like had existed before it. Hard times had existed, this was true: trials faced: even friendships tried. But never, ever, had such a truly despicable thing taken place, one that shook the moral fibre of the group involved, and indeed, brought ruinous distraught that existed as a pall over the whole camp.  
  
It all began, quite memorably, with a shriek, followed by a decidedly more masculine yell. The yell – having been elicited in the wee hours of the day – was understandably met with a rousing confusion amongst the newly awoken campers, still blinking wearily, some a little shaken at the sudden disturbance. Needless to say, the one who had raised the alarm was completely awake, and rushing about the camp in a hurried frenzy, his single antenna-like forelock waving about madly. Some would have described it as a perpetual case of bed-head.  
  
His personal grooming skills – somewhat lacking under normal circumstances as they were – had become utterly nonexistent at the moment. Unruly forelocks had no place in his mind. There was only one object that retained his attention at current, one that held incredible importance in his heart.  
  
And somebody, some vile devil, had stolen it away, apparently in the night. And this tragedy, nay, this travesty of justice, had to be both recognized and rectified immediately.  
  
A fairly immaculate woman, who looked ready for a ballroom even in these wee hours, emerged from her tent, casting a vicious eye on the frustrated man. Those violet orbs of hers spat silent venom in his general direction.  
  
"Wakka, what the hell are you doing?"  
  
He ignored her, still panic struck as he was, weaving amongst the tents, skirting around the ashes of a fire they'd built the night before, and tearing through their collective belongings, all of which sat safely nestled beside the tent of their giant, furry, silent ally, Kimahri. He, too, had emerged from the tent, spear already set to pounce on intruders. His companion, the crimson-clad swordsman Auron, could still be heard snoring loudly from within: the day's events had clearly not perturbed him in the least.  
  
Wakka dashed around the slowly emerging Ronso and peered into his tent, yelling a pitched "Wake up, man!" at Auron: but alas, the older man could not be roused, and his only response was to roll away from Wakka's insistent chattering and snore more loudly.  
  
Wakka, checking the tent over with a cursory glance, dodged out and into the cool morning air once again. His eyes, usually quite squinted and calm, were both wide and wild, clearly conveying his state of utter panic. "Where. . . where. . . where. . ."  
  
By now, everybody – save Auron – had emerged from their canvas cocoons, their expressions ranging from murderous to. . . well, more murderous. Tidus, having been Wakka's bed mate, appeared utterly dismal, his hair pointing in wild directions and a perpetual yawn painted onto his face: Yuna, one of Lulu's fellow campers, attempted in vain to keep her face impartial as she smoothed out her robes: and Rikku, the ever vivacious young girl and Lulu's second sleeping bag partner, did nothing to hide her mood, looking as though she wanted to tape a grenade onto Wakka's crotch and pull the pin.  
  
Auron snrrrked, growled – seemed to spit – and continued to snore, unabated.  
  
Lulu got to the crux of the matter quickly. "Wakka. Your life depends on having a good reason for waking us up like this."  
  
Wakka spun to face her. "Oh, I got one, Lu, I got one. . . I was robbed, I think. . ."  
  
Yuna, now able to feel sympathy, approached her stricken Guardian and laid a hand on his muscular shoulder. "I'm sorry, Wakka. What was stolen?" It had to be something utterly spectacular for Wakka to freak out this much.  
  
He took a deep breath. "My. . . my blitzball."  
  
The campsite was utterly muted for a sum total of three seconds. Even Auron went silent.  
  
The resumption of his snoring marked the explosion. Yuna's sympathy quickly ebbed. She barked out a harsh "Oh", far harsher than she'd intended, but she could not have helped it even given more prep time. Tidus, uncharacteristically silent, simply allowed his lower lip to sag somewhat to the right of his face, displaying with decided acuteness his opinion of the whole situation. Kimahri's eyes dodged back and forth, surveying the soon-to-be battle scene. Spear lodged in the ground, he had both of his massive paws clutched behind his back.  
  
Yuna cleared the field of fire. Tidus, yawning, did likewise, crawling back into his tent with a parting message of "keep it down when you kill him, girls". On it now stood Wakka, still in so flurried a state that he knew not his peril, Lulu, who looked about ready to bring Hell down upon his bumpkin behind, and Rikku, who perfectly mirrored Lulu's sentiments, her wide green eyes flashing dangerously in the rising sun.  
  
Lulu started it off. "Your what?"  
  
"My ball, man! You know, the one I whip people's asses with? Ya?"  
  
Rikku struck out harshly. "You woke us for that? You stupid nincompoop! I was dreaming, you stupid idiot! Damn!"  
  
Yuna interjected with a small exclamation of "language, now!"  
  
Lulu proposed a course of action. "We're almost to Mount Gagazet. You can get one from the Ronsos."  
  
"It's not the same! That one was signed! Man, I got Drezzi Starlighter to sign that thing, what, eight years ago? It's priceless! I need that one back!"  
  
Rikku winced. "Then why do you throw it at fiends, if it's so priceless?"  
  
Wakka, attempting to come back against that with a quick, decisive repartee, instead shot out a short, strangled noise that did nothing to validate his point, whatever it was.  
  
Lulu had given up on diplomacy. "This could have waited, you lummox."  
  
Wakka shot her a look of complete disbelief. "You crazy, Lu? That thing's worth, like, two thousand gil! You don't throw that kind of memorabilia out, ya?"  
  
Rikku tossed an emptied can of ravioli they'd left lying around from the previous night's meal at Wakka. Despite all his skill as a blitzballer – or perhaps it had waned since his last match? – it clunked him squarely on the head. His forelock bounced madly as though enraged by the attack. It shook in the promise of swift retribution.  
  
Wakka, not quite as decisive as his hair, was simply angrily puzzled. "Hey, what was that for?"  
  
Rikku gave him the evil eye. "You idiot! We've got tens of thousands of credits on us! Who cares about some stupid ball? You woke us up for this? I need my beauty rest!"  
  
Wakka waved off her exclamation. "No way we have that much, man. I know we don't. You're just talkin' crazy."  
  
Lulu's voice was filled with the chill of a blizzard. "Go check for yourself how much you have. We've been splitting it evenly, after all."  
  
Wakka, throwing them both a level look of uncertainty, merely grunted a "yeah, yeah", and unzipped his tent. His entrance into the dark confines of his temporary home away from home elicited a whiney "get the hell out" from his bed mate, who, though usually energetic, evidently was not a morning person.  
  
They all waited, shivering slightly in the chilly air – with the exception of Kimahri, who was rigid as a stone with his coarsely furred body blocking out the wind. Ever at attention, he still clasped both hands at the small of his back, looking like more of a soldier than any of them.  
  
Wakka counted. Tidus grumbled. Yuna shivered. Rikku snorted. Lulu glared. Kimahri eyed. Auron snored.  
  
After a short while, Wakka emerged. He looked somewhat abashed.  
  
"Well, okay, I want it back because it's a memento more than anything-"  
  
And thus, all hell broke loose in camp.  
  
---  
  
The details of that which took place after the tragedy are relatively inconsequential. Needless to say, by the time Auron awoke and emerged from his tent, Wakka was fleeing across the savannah in large zigzags – somehow deprived of his clothes, which Rikku had laid across one arm – as Lulu, seemingly burning off her annoyance at him in more ways than one, fired spell after spell in his wake. His posterior looked more than a little singed, taking on the appearance of a slightly burnt ham. Lulu rather seemed to be enjoying the proceedings, despite the fact that she'd turned most of the area around their camp into an ashy wasteland. A slight grin had emerged on her cruel lips.  
  
Yuna had returned to her tent. Tidus, having taken up Auron's formerly held role, was snoring gently within his own. Kimahri, having not budged a single inch, looked rather flushed, a feat that Auron had not known possible for Ronsos.  
  
"What are they doing?" He asked simply, stepping in line with Kimahri. The big Ronso merely shook his head.  
  
Auron studied the two girls as they cackled in glee, Lulu still blasting away at the nude Wakka as he proclaimed loudly that whoever stole his ball would "pay, ya". And then he turned to Kimahri.  
  
The Ronso was flustered. Too flustered. And why wasn't he holding his spear, like usual? "Kimahri, what are you hiding behind your back?"  
  
Kimahri gazed at Auron, eyes more than a little panicked. Without a word he simply withdrew his hands from behind his back, revealing a large, blue and white ball. On one side was scrawled Dezzi Starbiter, a small typo that actually made the ball completely worthless to any collector - Drezzi Starlighter had been somewhat intoxicated when he'd signed Wakka's ball, an oversight that the poor Besaidian had managed to overlook for years.  
  
Auron eyed the object for a moment. "Wakka's ball? Did that cause all of this?"  
  
Kimahri nodded tersely. "Was. . . supposed to be a joke. Kimahri think Kimahri screwed up on something, though."  
  
Auron looked at the ball a moment longer, then allowed his eye to follow out Wakka, who was now on his knees and pleading for at least a loincloth. "It might not be the joke you had in mind, Kimahri, but I think it's pretty funny." 


End file.
